The Dilapidated Swingset

Below the frame stands bare

A metal, freezing to the touch,

Reddening as the water breaks its surface.

A stripped form

as it stands in solitude;

its current state

invites no visitors to come and play.

It stands weighed down by previous hands, by its function,

and only that saves the remains.

All the folly that had wrecked

the vitality of its movement

had once been the spirit in the form

of blasphemous dreams.

“I had a dream of a sentiment

that I cannot recollect”,

Some call it

death of swing

euthanasia of indulgence

the abortion of the self.

Here lies the spinning

Necrosis in the form of follicles

A smoke in the air

to remind the lungs to hold their breath.

A trail of toxins which rupture the surface

and demolish the strings

leaving the scheme immaculate.